


So You Want to be a Tenenbaum

by steelplatedhearts



Category: Royal Tenenbaums (2001)
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-21
Updated: 2014-05-21
Packaged: 2018-01-26 01:06:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1669076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/steelplatedhearts/pseuds/steelplatedhearts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eli notices it for the first time (even if he doesn’t know what he’s noticing) when he’s eight years old and Margot and Richie run away from home.</p><p>It’s not a proper running away—they hide in a museum for two days and nobody notices that they’re gone—but Richie talks about it like it’s going to be the biggest adventure of his life.</p><p>Eli asks if he can come with them. Richie says yes. Margot says no.</p><p>Richie changes his answer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	So You Want to be a Tenenbaum

North Dakota is pretty, in an abandoned sort of way.

“It’s kind of inspiring,” Eli says. “I think I might get another book out of this.”

“Yeah?” Richie says. “What about?”

“I’m thinking a coming of age story,” Eli says. “About a man who has to take a road trip and dump a little bit of his father’s ashes in every state. And as he’s driving around to all these locations, he’s meeting people who knew his dad, and realizing that he didn’t know his dad as well as he thought.”

“Not a western, then.”

Eli shrugs. “I’m thinking of getting away from westerns. If I’m going to be a writer, I want to leave something behind that I’m proud of.”

“You’re not proud of your westerns?”

“I am, I just—” Eli breaks off, sighing. “Let’s not talk about this.”

“You brought it up.”

“I know _._ ”

They fall silent again, staring out over the plains surrounding the hospital.

“So how’s Margot?”

Richie shrugs. “All right, I guess.”

“Are you two—you know?” Eli asks hesitantly.

“No.”

“That’s probably for the best,” Eli says. “She’s your sister.”

“Not really,” Richie murmurs.

“Maybe not by blood, but you’re still too similar. You two get together, it’ll be nothing but all Tenenbaum, all the time.”

Richie turns to face Eli fully, taking off his sunglasses for the first time. “So?”

“So, good relationships bring out good things in each other. You and Margot will just bring out the Tenenbaum in each other. You’d be stuck in a loop.”

Richie snorts. “Like you know anything about good relationships, anyway.”

“I know enough,” Eli says. “I know what relationships with Margot are like, anyway.”

Richie frowns, putting his sunglasses back on. “I don’t see what’s wrong with being Tenenbaums. I thought you wanted to be one.”

“That’s irrelevant,” Eli says. “You always need a balancing force, you know.”

Richie shrugs halfheartedly, slipping his thumb underneath the arm of his coat. Eli doesn’t have to look to know he’s tracing the scars on his wrist.

“Chas is in therapy now,” he says, shifting. “Trying to deal with the whole safety obsession. He’s a lot more relaxed these days. I think that means it’s working.”

“I’m glad,” Eli says. “How’re Ari and Uzi?”

“Fine,” Richie says. “They’re trying to teach Sparkplug tricks.”

“I’m sorry I killed their dog,” Eli says, ducking his head.

Richie shifts a little more, bumping Eli’s shoulder. “I know.”

*   *   *   *   *  

Margot moves into her studio the week after Chas moves back to his apartment. Richie is the only one at home now, and when she takes her suitcases out to the taxi, he’s still in his tent upstairs. She can’t really see him being anywhere else.

The studio has wide windows and very little furniture, which is the way she likes it. She stacks all her suitcases neatly in a corner, sets up her typewriter on the desk, and sits down, placing a stack of paper next to the typewriter.

She thinks of seven different ideas for a play, and doesn’t work on any of them.

She thinks about making some calls, to Eli or Raleigh or her father, but doesn’t.

What she does is light up a cigarette and watch the sunset out her window. The oranges and golds shine directly into the studio, giving the wood of her desk a rich, warm tone.

It’s nice, she thinks. Something in her life ought to be warm.

*   *   *   *   *  

Eli notices it for the first time (even if he doesn’t know what he’s noticing) when he’s eight years old and Margot and Richie run away from home.

It’s not a proper running away—they hide in a museum for two days and nobody notices that they’re gone—but Richie talks about it like it’s going to be the biggest adventure of his life.

Eli asks if he can come with them. Richie says yes. Margot says no.

Richie changes his answer.

*   *   *   *   *  

Richie makes some halfhearted attempts at finding his own place—circles a few ads, goes and looks at some listings, but nothing comes of it.

“I don’t want you to move out,” his mother says at dinner one night.

“Okay.”

“I mean it,” she says. “Given—given the recent circumstances, I want you to stay here for the time being.”

Her eyes flick down to his arms, and then back up again.

“You can say what happened, you know,” Richie says, pushing his meat around with a fork. “I tried to kill myself. It was a suicide attempt. You don’t have to dance around it.”

“Okay,” she says, after a pause. “You tried to kill yourself, and I don’t want you to leave.”

“I’m not going to.”

There’s a long pause, in which Richie stares resolutely at his plate, his mother stares at him, and Henry tries to pretend that his steak is the most interesting thing in the world.

“Why’d you do it, Richie?” his mother asks, defeated.

He shrugs.

“I just—” she starts, and has to stop as her eyes fill with tears. “Can I help?”

“Not really.”

She starts to cry in earnest, and Henry abandons his dinner to take her hand.

“Don’t cry, Ma,” Richie says. “It wasn’t your fault. It’s just a thing that happened.”

That only makes her cry harder.

*   *   *   *   *  

Royal takes Etheline and Henry out to lunch on a Thursday, insists it’s his treat.

“I’m not broke anymore,” he says, beaming. “Pagoda and I got promoted.”

“I’m glad,” Etheline says.

The lunch is cordial, even relaxed, and it’s the nicest time she’s had with Royal in years.

“I will admit,” he says halfway through his meal, looking sheepish, “I have an ulterior motive here. We need to talk.”

“If you tell me you’re dying I’m going to hit you,” Etheline says.

“I’m not dying,” Royal says. “No more than we’re all slowly marching towards the end. No, this isn’t actually about me.”

That, more than anything, is what makes Etheline sit up and pay attention.

“It’s about Richie,” Royal says. “He’s in love with Margot.”

“Margot,” Etheline says blankly. “Our Margot?”

Royal nods.

“Does she know?” Henry asks.

“Everyone knows, now,” Royal says. “Except maybe Chas. Last I heard, Margot was confused about the whole thing. That may have changed, I don’t know.”

“Oh,” Etheline says, after a very pronounced pause. “Thank you for telling me.”

“You were the one that raised them,” Royal says. “You should have known before I did.” He pauses, considering. “I didn’t mean that like it sounded. I’m not blaming you or anything.”

“I get what you meant,” Etheline says.

“I really am sorry about that.”

“It’s all right.”

*   *   *   *   *  

Eli gets a call at two in the morning.

“Hey Eli,” Margot says, her voice tinny and distant. “How’re things?”

“Fine, I suppose,” Eli says, yawning. “What time is it?”

“One seventeen,” Margot says. “I don’t know what time it is in North Dakota.”

She falls silent, and Eli waits for her to get to the point of the call.

“Can I help you?” he asks once it becomes clear that she’s not going to speak.

“Do you remember when you said you didn’t love me anymore?”

He nods, and then remembers she can’t see him. “Yes.”

“I said I didn’t know that you ever were.”

“Yeah.”

“Did you really love me once?”

He thinks of Margot running away when she was ten and again when she was fourteen. He thinks of the way her nose crinkles when she smiles, which isn’t often. He thinks of the way the sun hits her hair and bounces off, spilling gold into the air. “Very much.”

“Okay,” she says, voice faint. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Eli says, but Margot has already hung up.

*   *   *   *   *  

He keeps his suicide note on his person at all times for a week and then takes it up to the roof and burns it. Mordecai is the only witness.

He curls up in his tent and writes it out again, slowly and carefully, so it’s legible. He folds it up, tiny as he can get it, puts it in a plastic bag, and hides it in Margot’s hollowed out brick.

Maybe she’ll find it. Maybe she won’t.

It’s all the same to him.

*   *   *   *   *  

Dad takes Ari and Uzi out on Saturday. Where exactly they’re going, Chas doesn’t know and doesn’t ask. He can’t control every aspect of their lives. It’s good he’s learning this now, he supposes, before they hit their rebellious teenage years.

He calls Margot for a distraction, takes her to get coffee. They get their cups to go and wander down the street in a companionable silence.

Margot’s always been quiet, which is fine with Chas. Some people can talk for hours without saying anything important, but when Margot actually speaks, Chas knows it’s important enough to listen closely.

“Hey,” she says now, bumping his arm with her elbow. “Swingset.”

He follows her gaze to the abandoned playground. “Yep.”

“You’ve never been on one, have you?”

“I have,” he says, feeling slightly offended for reasons that aren’t clear.

“Not for a long time,” she says.

“Well, no. I grew up.”

“Too fast, maybe,” she says quietly. “We all did.”

She falls silent again, and then makes a beeline for the swings, leaving her coffee balanced on the fence. She settles herself on the seat, brushing her hair out of her face. “Push me.”

“I’m sorry?”

She smirks at him, which is the closest thing she’s had to a smile that he’s seen in years. “Come on, the big brother always has to push his little sister.”

“I didn’t know that was a rule,” he says, putting his coffee cup next to hers.

“Maybe it’s not,” Margot says. “But it should be.”

He pushes her, lightly at first, but gets braver as Margot’s smile grows wider. Soon enough, she’s flying through the air, and at the apex of her swing, she lets go and soars.

Chas’s heart stops for a moment, and Margot seems to freeze, suspended in midair. She finally lands, stumbling a little bit, and Chas breathes again. She grabs the coffee cups, handing one to Chas.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” she says softly.

“I guess not.”

“You wanna go see a movie or something?”

“Yes please.”

She slips her arm through his, and they continue down the street in silence.

*   *   *   *   *  

Richie had tried to let Mordecai go, but it didn’t take. Maybe Mordecai was just more comfortable in captivity. He’s heard stories like that, of zoo animals who were stuck in cages for so long they didn’t know how to do anything else.

“You can fly anywhere in the world,” he tells Mordecai. “Why stay here?”

Mordecai does not answer.

*   *   *   *   *  

Mrs. Tenenbaum—well, Mrs. Sherman now, technically—comes to visit Eli in North Dakota.

“I figured it would save you on postage,” she says, “if you could just talk to me face to face rather than writing all those letters.”

“It’s good to see you, Mrs. Sherman,” Eli says.

She smiles slightly. “You can just call me Etheline.”

“Thanks.”

They sit on a bench and she turns to face him. “So, how are you doing?”

“Much better,” he says. “I’m sorry about your house.”

“It’s forgotten.”

“No, I mean it,” he says. “It was wrong of me, and—”

“You’re getting help for it now, Eli,” she says, taking his hand. “That’s all that matters.”

“I’ll pay for the damages.”

“You can pay me back by recovering,” she says firmly.

He takes her on a tour of the facilities, shows her his room and the grounds and tells her about his treatments. It’s a pleasant day, overall.

“When you check out, I want you to know you have a place at our house,” she says when she’s about to leave. “If it’ll make things easier to adjust. We have plenty of rooms.”

She hugs him, and he sags into her arms. He wants to say thank you, or apologize again, or say _something_ , but it’s all he can do to stay upright.

*   *   *   *   *  

Margot meets Raleigh for breakfast in a chic little café a few blocks away from the house they used to share.

“I want a divorce,” he says without preamble, and the waiter that just approached their table turns right back around again.

“I know,” she says.

“You don’t have anything to say to that?” he asks incredulously.

“Not really.”

He sighs, sitting back in his chair. “You never really loved me, did you?”

“I did,” she protests. “As best I could, anyway.”

“Your best wasn’t that great, was it?”

She lets that slide, studying the menu.  “I don’t want you to think,” she says, reading the specials, “that this is your fault.”

“What do you mean?”

“I didn’t cheat on you because there was something wrong with you.”

“Then why did you?” he asks quietly.

“Because I don’t think I can love,” she says. Not you, not anyone.”

“I’m sure that isn’t true.”

“It is,” she says. “Forget about me, Raleigh. There’s a nice woman out there who’ll love you. She’s very beautiful, I’m sure.”

“ _You’re_ beautiful.”

She puts down the menu and smiles sadly. “Only on the outside.”

*   *   *   *  *  

The night before he checks out of the clinic, Eli can’t sleep.

He’s going to miss North Dakota, he thinks, in a weird sort of way. But he misses New York too, misses the activity and his friends and the house on Archer Avenue.

He misses Margot, and Richie too. But that missing is strange, and vaguely uncomfortable, so he doesn’t think about it much.

It’s half past one when his phone rings.

“Hello?”

There’s silence on the other end for a moment. “Eli?”

“Hey Margot.”

She hiccups quietly. “Why did you want to be a Tenenbaum?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Richie said you wanted to be a Tenenbaum. Why on earth would you want that?”

Eli turns the question over in his mind. It’s like asking why the sky is blue, or why the sun rises. They’re just things that are.

“Eli?”

“I’m thinking, Margot.”

When he was a kid, he wanted to be a Tenenbaum because they were wealthy geniuses with two parents that loved them. He knows now that picture was overly idealistic, and nobody’s life is that happy.

“I guess the love,” he says finally. “Your mom loved you, and your dad did too, in his weird way. Chas loved you, and we know how Richie felt. There was just—you all cared about each other, even if it was weird and kind of unhealthy. I wanted that.”

“When we were together,” she says, voice shaky, “did I love you?”

It’s just one more question in a string of questions Margot has asked him and expected him to answer, despite the total impossibility of it.

“Well, I was on a lot of drugs, so it’s hard to be sure,” he says. “But if you’d asked then, I would have said you did.”

“What if I’m asking now?”

“Then I’d say the same thing,” Eli says, “but I’d ask why the hell you’re asking me.”

He hangs up before Margot can.

*   *   *   *   *  

There’s plenty of room in the house now, but Richie still sleeps in his tent. It smells faintly of cigarette smoke and the outdoors, and he doesn’t really want to sleep anywhere else.

Eli moves in, sets himself up in Chas’s old room. He’s been quiet so far, kept to himself, but Richie knows that won’t last. It can’t. The two of them can’t be in the same house without being together.

On the third day, Richie hears footsteps outside the tent. They approach hesitantly, stop, go quickly back to the door, and then, after a few minutes, slowly return to the tent flap. Richie doesn’t say anything, just waits.

After a good two-minute pause, the flap opens and Eli sticks his head in. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Richie says, propping himself up on his elbows.

“Can I come in?” Eli asks hesitantly. Richie nods, and Eli folds himself down to fit. “There used to be more room in here,” he says awkwardly.

Richie sits up fully, motions Eli out of the way, and shoves the cot out of the tent altogether.

“There,” he says, lying back down. “Much more room.”

Eli lies down next to him, folding his hands over his chest, and stares straight up. Richie closes his eyes, listening to the sound of Eli breathing.It’s soothing and steady, and Richie could believe that it’ll be constant to the end of the world.

“I love this tent,” Eli says. “Feels like home.”

 _It can be,_ Richie wants to say, but he doesn’t. “Are we still friends?” he asks instead.

Eli is silent for a long, long time, and the silence stretches out to the point of being uncomfortable. “I don’t know,” he says finally. “I hope so.”

“We were so much closer, back then,” Richie says.

Eli just shrugs. “Stuff changes. People grow up.”

They lay there for a while longer. “I missed you,” Eli says eventually. “I know you were around, we were friends, but I missed you anyway.”

Richie looks over at Eli, who’s still staring resolutely up. “What the hell happened to us?” he asks softly, staring at Eli.

“I got addicted to drugs, you got suicidal, and we both fell in love with Margot,” Eli answers. “That’s the kind of stuff that tests bonds.”

“Do you think we’re going to be okay?” Richie asks.

Eli turns his head to look at him, the ghost of a smile on his face. “Yeah, Richie. We’re going to be okay.”

Maybe it’s a lie, but Richie doesn’t give a shit. He brushes his fingers against Eli’s, and Eli twines their hands together and holds on tight.

*   *   *   *   *  

The Tenenbaums have never really been holiday people, but the last year has seen so much happen that everyone unanimously decides (without a legitimate discussion) that they’re going to gather on Archer Avenue for Thanksgiving. Henry brings Walter and Royal brings Pagoda, not as a servant, but as a guest.

Margot is the last one to arrive, clutching a bottle of wine and looking vaguely uncomfortable. The majority of the guests are sitting in the living room watching the Westminster Dog Show, so Margot retreats to the kitchen, where her mother and Walter are trying to figure out the stuffing.

“Hey, mom,” she says, hanging her coat on the doorknob.

“Good to see you, dear,” her mother says, hugging her tightly.

“Is Richie around?”

“He’s in the tent on the third floor with Eli,” her mother says. “They’ve been staying up there since Eli got back from North Dakota.”

Margot ignores the twist in her gut at that and starts in on the pie dough Walter slides across the counter to her.

Dinner is ordinary enough, and nobody fights or gets outrageously drunk or breaks anything, so by Tenenbaum standards, it’s a wholehearted success. Margot excuses herself between the main course and dessert to head up to the roof and smoke a cigarette in peace.

It’s already dark and freezing, and she finds herself glad she didn’t grab her coat. That’s not a logical reaction, she thinks, but it’s _hers_.

She lifts up her brick and finds not only her cigarettes, but also a small plastic bag with a note inside. She frowns, opening the bag and the note. She unfolds the paper. She reads it.

She cries.

*   *   *   *   *  

“I’m glad you and Dad are getting along.”

Chas snorts. “Yeah, I bet.”

“I really am.”

“Yeah, Richie, I know,” Chas says with a sigh. “I’m sorry I snapped.”

“It’s not your fault,” Richie says. “Things have been rough for you.”

“They’ve been rough for you too,” Chas says. He pauses, looks at Richie for a minute, and sighs. “Look, I know I haven’t been the world’s best brother.”

“You did your best,” Richie says. “Nobody could ask for more.”

“Well, look,” Chas says, kind of awkwardly. “There’s some stuff we have to talk about.”

“Is it about how I tried to kill myself?” Richie asks. “Because I’ve gotten the riot act from Mom and Margot already—”

“It’s not that,” Chas says hastily. “I just—I wanted to know if you would give Ari and Uzi tennis lessons.”

Richie just stares at him.

“I mean, just a few lessons, at first,” Chas says, continuing on. “To see if they like it, and if _you_ like it, and maybe if it works out you can give lessons, professionally, but you wouldn’t have to compete or anything.”

Richie still just stares at him, and Chas is about to take back the offer when Richie’s face breaks into a broad grin. “See?” he says, pulling Chas into a hug. “You’re a great brother.”

“I don’t know about that,” Chas says, fidgeting slightly.

“I do,” Richie says. “You’re my brother, and I love you.” He pulls back and smiles, so genuinely that it’s a little unnerving. “It’s nice to have someone in your corner.”

*   *   *   *   *  

Margot signs up for a painting class at the local community center. It’s a relaxing activity, painting. She sees why Richie liked it, even if he was never any good.

The woman who sits next to her is called Janice, has two dogs and three kids, and is recently divorced.

“Me too,” Margot says. “For the second time.”

“I’m so sorry,” Janice says, squinting at the still life at the front of the room. “It’s an awful thing.”

Margot shrugs. “I’m pretty okay with it.”

Janice talks to her every day after that. After a few weeks, in which Janice has progressed in art far more than Margot has, Margot asks if Janice wants to read one of her plays.

“It’s called _The Levinsons in the Trees_ ,” she says, adding a stroke of blue to the flower on her canvas. “I just need a fresh pair of eyes.”

“Of course!” Janice says. “I’d love to.”

Margot gives her a copy of the play and carefully tries not to think about it for the rest of the week. She didn’t need to worry, as it turns out, because Janice returns it with rave reviews.

“I thought it was wonderful,” she says. “Like one of those classic Greek tragedies.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah! It was so sad that Elaine felt she had to keep all these secrets from her family. And that’s what got her in the end, wasn’t it? Secrets.”

Margot wants to say _it was meant to be a comedy_ , but doesn’t.

*   *   *   *   *  

Ari and Uzi are great students. They bring Sparkplug along, and he sits patiently at the edge of the court until one of the boys signals him to retrieve a ball. Uzi is a little better than Ari, but he _is_ older, so it makes sense.

He’s got them practicing on the wall, so they’ll both have an opponent who’ll always send the ball back to them. It leaves him free to correct their grip, their stance, or technique.

He’s standing between them, supervising, when instead of hitting the ball back towards the wall, Ari catches it and looks up at him.

“Are you feeling better?” he asks.

Richie frowns. “What do you mean?”

“You were in the hospital,” Ari says. “You were sick. Are you feeling better?”

It’s such a strange thing to hear out of an eight-year-old’s mouth that Richie is speechless for a moment. “I’m just fine, Ari,” he says finally, kneeling down to be at his level. “It’s nothing you need to worry about.”

“Are you sure?” Ari mumbles, looking worried.

“Positive,” Richie says. “I’m not going back to the hospital anymore.”

Ari hugs him suddenly, and Richie hugs him back, ignoring the emotion welling up in his chest.

*   *   *   *   *  

Christmas dinner is just as calm as Thanksgiving had been, but it will not remain so for long.

“Excuse me,” Margot says just after grace, gripping the stem of her wine glass so hard she thinks it might break. “I have some things to say.”

Gradually, their attention turns to her, and soon enough, every pair of eyes in the room is locked directly on her. She takes a deep breath and begins to speak.

“I got married when I was nineteen,” she says. “We got divorced nine days later.”

Chas chokes on his drink.

“I didn’t actually lose my finger visiting my real family,” she continues. “I’ve never even met them. I spent those two weeks staying in a hotel with some cash I snuck out of mom’s purse. I lost my finger when I went to the hotel kitchen to make a midnight snack. I was trying to chop some vegetables, and I missed.” She pauses, looking down at her hands. “But that doesn’t make for a very good story.”

Her family is silent.

“I’ve had a secret apartment for ten years. I started smoking when I was twelve. I broke that antique vase from Italy and blamed it on Richie. I’ve forged mom’s signature on three separate occasions. I took some bonds from Chas’s safe once.”

“Told you it wasn’t me,” Royal mutters.

“It was still you,” Margot says. “I didn’t take that much.”

“Well,” her mother says faintly. “Anything else?”

“My favorite color is purple,” Margot says quietly. “I always wanted a pet cat. I like watching documentaries. I think rain is better than sun. Also, I think I’m in love with Richie.”

The table falls into stunned silence, and Margo takes the opportunity to drink the rest of her wine in one go.

“Well,” Royal says finally. “Is that all?”

She pats her mouth with her napkin. “That’s all.”

Before anybody can say anything, she stands up and disappears to the kitchen. She leans against the counter, trembling slightly, and tries to pour herself another glass of wine. The door behind her opens and closes, but she doesn’t look around to see who it is.

“I think that’s the most I’ve ever heard about you,” the intruder says quietly, and Margot turns to face Eli.

“It was time, I guess,” she says with a shrug.

“Richie’s about to explode,” he says. “I think he’s pleased.” He pauses, then glances at her sideways. “Is that why you did it? For Richie?”

Margot slips her hand into her pocket, tracing the edges of the plastic bag with the now memorized note. “No,” she says. “I think I did it for me.”

*   *   *   *   *  

Margot comes up to the third floor two days into the new year and stands awkwardly at the doorway.

“I was going to go to the Public Archives,” she says quietly. “Look around the African wing a little. I thought you might want to come too.”

Richie looks at her like she’s the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, like he’s not sure she really exists. “Sure.”

There’s a dead weight in Eli’s stomach, which he does his best to ignore. “You have fun,” he says, retreating back into the tent. “I was hoping to write some today, so—”

“You don’t want to come?” Margot says, worried.

“Am I invited?” he asks.

“Of course,” she says softly. “You’re family.”

She’s looking at him like she expects something to break, and in the corner Richie is frozen, holding his breath to see which way it goes. Margot carefully extends her hand, and Eli reaches out to take it.

“Let’s go to the museum, then,” he says, and Margot and Richie smile in unison, clouds parting to reveal the sun.


End file.
